


Scarred

by Lainpinky131



Series: The Romantic Dalliances of Cipher 9 [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Chiss, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Hand of Jadus, M/M, Mentioned Eradication Day, Mentioned Onomatophobia, Mild descriptions of violence, Nightmares, Past Brainwashing, Possible Trigger Warning - Past Abusive Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-15 03:43:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12313095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lainpinky131/pseuds/Lainpinky131
Summary: After waking from a sleep filled with nightmares, Fin settles himself in for a long night alone. That is, until an unexpected guest arrives.





	Scarred

**Author's Note:**

> So this was supposed to be done a LOT sooner, but due to a mistake on my behalf, I accidentally deleted everything and had to re-write it from memory. So that was fun. ><
> 
> I have about 4 more fics about Theron planned, so look forward to those when they come out in 12 years. ;)
> 
> This is the longest one-shot I've ever written and I put my everything into this to make it as perfect as possible, so I hope you enjoy~

Fi'nalyn sat at his work bench, his back hunched over, tight and tense, in a position that was far from comfortable, as he cleaned his blaster rifle with perhaps more force than was necessary. His gloved hands shook and his eyes dragged with exhaustion, despite the overload of caf he drank.

His sleep was plagued with nightmares.

In his dreams were the echoes of screams and cries as fire rained down on the Empire—on his own people—at his call. Memories of his Darth Jadus, of _Eradication Day_ , of Hoth, of the SIS, of that man—

That _voice_. No matter how far he ran, or how long they were apart, Fin would always be drawn back to him. Always the magnetic attraction, the _temptation_ he couldn't explain but found he never wanted to resist.

Like fire on flesh. The best of enemies.

Fin remembered the feeling of his brain as it tore itself in half, the feeling of every muscle in his body going tense, and then numb, of wanting to scream but unable to open his mouth—

_Keyword: Onomatophobia. Thesh Protocol Engaged._

Fin threw himself up from his chair, his muscles constricted as he gasped for air. His seat overturned, and in a frenzy, he grabbed the nearest object he could find and hurled it across the room blindly.

It was then that Fin heard a door open and someone cry out in alarm.

Fin looked up and was surprised to see Theron Shan standing in the doorway, his body in an animated defensive position.

The object that Fin had thrown hit the ground with a resounding crash and skid across the floor before it slammed into the wall.

The two agents stared at each other, wide-eyed and frozen in place.

Theron spoke first.

“Not exactly what I was expecting. Thought you liked me better than that, Cipher,” Theron said. He cleared his throat to gain his composure.

Fin stumbled to find the right words, “Theron, I- What are you doing here?” He asked. ~~~~

“Well, y'know, I couldn't sleep and I was feeling pretty lonely, so I thought I'd stop by for the company, or something,” Theron tried his best to sound nonchalant but failed miserably at it, “If I'd known you’d be practicing throwing your blaster, I would have brought my own.”

Fin looked across the room and realized, to his own mortification, that the object he had discarded had been his blaster rifle.

His eyes fell shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Now’s not exactly the best time,” he said.

Theron sent several scathing looks to the piles of empty mugs that surrounded them and the chair that laid overturned on the floor, “I can go if you’re,” he paused, “… _busy_.”

Fin’s shoulders slumped.

He searched for the strength to dismiss Theron, but he found none. All his companions were gone and he'd forgotten just how terrifying the loneliness was. Sleepless nights did that to you.

A decent welcome was out of the question, but the least he could do is be was hospitable after he nearly hit Theron with his blaster.

“Sit, I'll get you a drink,” he said as he pulled his work gloves off.

“I’d prefer to drink something stronger,” Theron said.

“Caf is all I have,” he stated.

Theron waved a no with his hands, “I’m okay. You probably need sleep more than anything else. You look awful,” he said, his voice light against the heaviness of the room.

Fin was suddenly aware of just how terrible he must look. His hair was dirty and unbrushed, and he hadn’t managed to take off all his makeup from the night before, which had left his face covered in faded blotches of black. He’s looked worse, but not by much.

He slid a quick hand through his silver hair to make himself look somewhat presentable.

“Do you say that to everyone, or only the ones you like?”

Theron laughed, “No, it's just you.”

“You always know how to make me feel special,” Fin deadpanned.

“Not as special as I feel. Is it normal for you to welcome all your guests with a blaster thrown at them, or is it just me?” Theron asked.

He smirked, “It’s just you.”

Theron gave him an amused look.

Fin moved to the other side of the room to pour himself a cup of caf. He waited a moment before he glanced over his shoulder and watched as Theron took a seat on the dark sofa. His posture was relaxed as he casually draped an arm around the back of the seat. It said a lot that for a man who claimed to be deprived of sleep, Theron looked no worse than ever. His hair was its normal voluminous shape and his eyes were wide awake. He was even dressed in casual dark clothes with his ever-present red jacket.

Theron met Fin’s eyes and countered his gaze.

“Is everything okay?” He heard Theron ask, “You seem off.”

Fin froze.

The _last_ thing he wanted to do was explain the reasons for his nightmares with Theron. It was more than likely that he already knew a good portion of his deeds as Cipher 9, but he had no desire to repeat them for confirmation.

So, he only answered with, “Can't sleep.” His words came out faster than he’d intended.

“I figured as much. Was it a nightmare?”

They watched each other, Theron’s expression expectant. So, after a long pause, Fin shrugged.

Theron’s eyes narrowed.

“You really don't talk much, do you?” He asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question.

Fin blanched, “Figured that out just now, Agent Shan?” He countered.

Theron scoffed, “Not all of us had that fancy Chiss Ascendancy training, _Cipher 9_ ,” he said, his voice a playful tease.

The corner of Fin's mouth quirked up. With his mug in hand, he sat adjacent to Theron on the sofa, “So you admit that the Ascendancy is better than SIS training?”

Theron shrugged and leaned toward him, “Maybe in some regards. But I could hold my own against you any day. At least, long enough for me to get away,” he gestured with his hands as he spoke.

Fin let out a soft laugh that sounded awfully close to a giggle, before he caught himself and cleared his throat. He stared, his eyebrows furrowed.

“You're not like other SIS I've met,” he said, as he toyed with the mug with his hands.

“Because I’m the only one who hasn’t shot at you yet?” Theron asked, and Fin breathed a laugh, “Were any as handsome as me?”

Fin thought for a moment, then decided, “Not nearly, but one was just as…”

Words failed him, but from the look on Theron’s face, he seemed to get the idea.

“Ah,” he nodded, “Any exes I should keep an eye out for then?”

Fin shook his head, “None that you need to know about,” he said.

Theron laughed, “I’ll remember that.”

His laughter died down and the room fell into silence, though it was warm and companionable, a stark contrast to the empty, deafening silence that was usual of the _Phantom_ whenever he found himself alone.

Fin took a sip of his drink, relieved to find it still warm, and placed it on the nearest surface. Sleep weighed on him, and his eyes fell shut as he relaxed to the feeling of good company and the pleasant aroma of caf.

Fin felt a dip in the sofa as Theron moved to sit closer, and instinct made him open his eyes.

He found Theron staring, and Fin froze as his eyes scanned his face. A question was obvious on his mind, and Fin knew what it would be.

“I’ve been wondering this for a while now,” he said, “Your scars, how did you get them?” Theron asked.

Fin took a sharp breath before he began.

“Training mission. I was tasked with deactivating a small explosive device, but it went off before I had time to get away,” he said, his voice mechanical. He'd long lost track of how many times he’s had to repeat this story, “I avoided the blast but there was shrapnel. The field medics had done the best they could, but the evac was at the end. I either had to finish the course as quickly as possible, or wait for rescue to find me once the time had run out,” his tone rose in volume and each word came out more poisoned-filled than the last, “I was the youngest person on that mission. I had something to prove, and I wasn’t going to let myself fail because of my mistakes. So, I went on, and I completed the mission with the skin of my face falling off, a ruptured eardrum, and an eye I couldn’t open.

“I was lucky I didn't lose anything important,” he cut himself off sharply, and his voice returned to the monotony it was before.

It took Theron a moment to let it all sink in.

“And this was where, the Chiss Ascendancy? How old were you?” He asked.

“I was twelve. I've had them for nine years now,” he said.

Theron muttered a swear under his breath.

Fin looked down at his hands, at the chipped black paint on his nails, at the scars on his knuckles, and at the callouses on his palms.

The scars on his face were crisscrossed and cross-hatched, with long, ugly stitches that ran up into his hairline, over the bridge of his nose, across his cheeks, and down his neck and shoulders. They marred his face and worst of all, they were impossible to hide.

Everything about them, about _him_ was wrong.

“Fin—?”

“After the mission, I gained a reputation at the Ascendancy. Everyone heard the story and could recognize me by the scars alone. When you’re training to wear many names and faces, easily identifiable scars are the last things you want,” he said, “So, I wore helmets and masks for as long as I could. But after I joined Imperial Intelligence, I couldn't hide myself—”

“Ironic.”

“—That’s when I started using makeup. Lipstick, eyeshadow, eyeliner. It helped, a little,” he finished. “Now, I just enjoy wearing it,” he cracked a smile, but it fell instantly.

Theron stared at him long, hard, before he broke the silence with a sigh.

“I have to admit, the makeup does you no disservice,” he said.

Fin laughed as he always did when Theron teased him, but when he glanced at Theron’s face, expecting that smug and shameless smile, there was something else. His expression was serious and genuine, his mouth a soft line, and his bright brown eyes were the only glimpse of what he truly meant by those word.

Fin felt then that he wanted to kiss him.

But he wasn’t ready for that. Neither of them were. Not yet. Soon, he hoped.

So instead, Fin smiled back, slow and sad.

“I know,” he said. His words were confident, but his eyes were not.

Theron ever so softly raised his hand and caressed Fin’s cheek.

“Fin, listen. I'm not sure about you, but _that_ —” he gestured with his free hand out the door where the blaster still laid on the floor, “—shouldn’t be normal. You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, but just, get some sleep, alright?”

Fin wanted to reject Theron outright, to say that he regretted ever telling him anything about his life, but when he was forced to face the honesty Theron held in his voice, he knew he couldn’t send him away.

Fin closed his eyes. He placed a hand over Theron’s, and nodded.

_Okay… Okay._

Theron wrapped a hand around Fin’s arm and pulled his closer, slow and gentle, until Fin’s head was rested, rather awkwardly, on his lap.

Apparently, the bedroom wasn’t what Theron had in mind.

He was surprised, to say the least. Theron was far from the first person he’d ever cared for in this way, but his love life had been anything but pleasant. From the beginning, it had been filled with empty goodbyes, unrequited affections, and unforgivable cruelty. He’d long accepted this and had begun to expect it from everyone he grew attached to.

That was, of course, until he met Theron. Never in any of Fin’s previous relationships had he ever done something so… soft.

Even in the smallest of actions, Theron changed Fin’s perspective on everything.

Fin was tense, unsure of himself, until he felt a warm hand run fingers through his hair. The fingertips neared the scars that were hidden in his hair, but never touched the sensitive skin. It was a relaxing motion and his eyes drifted shut as he felt himself on the edge of sleep.

He shifted to find a more comfortable position, but he froze when he felt something solid in Theron's jacket.

He could almost laugh.

“Theron?”

“Hm?”

“You _did_ bring your blaster,” he said.

Theron reached into his jacket and pulled out a blaster pistol.

“Would you look at that,” he said. At least he had the decency to sound shocked.

“Theron?”

“Yeah?”

“I like your scars too,” he said.

Theron smiled.

“Thanks.”

**Author's Note:**

> Would love comments~ :)
> 
> Check out my tumblr for more on Fin. :)  
> http://vagabond1985.tumblr.com/swtor-oc


End file.
